General Poetry posted May 14, 2016


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sonnet sequence

Who Mothers the Mother?

by lightink

Poem of the Month Contest Winner 
                                                                                             
                                                       
1                                                                                  
When nighttime fills the air with mystic balm,
I sit in tufted darkness in my chair
absorbing feelings that my soul becalms -
I rock and rock away my daily wear.

My baby's swishing breathing fills the room
with notes of peace - a secret lullaby.
Our hearts are synchronized - they share a tune
that will remain just ours as time ticks by.

But past the clouds of my maternal bliss,
beyond the haze of fading yesterdays,
I see another baby face amiss -
the child I used to be cuts through my daze.

She hopes to bathe, too, in my love at last -
a refugee from my elusive past.


2
A refugee from my elusive past,
my childhood self looks at the grownup me
Her olive eyes are vastly overcast -
with tired sadness - like a silent plea.

Feeling worthless, her back is slightly curved
beneath invisible ancestral weights.
She moves through life with energy conserved
on shaky ground that often oscillates.

Oh, how I wish to kiss away her pain
and show the treasures of her spotless essence -
to let her soak in loving warmth again,
to fill her gaze once more with luminescence.

I'll reach through time to make her feel secure -
for I'm the wound, and I'm the only cure.


3
For I'm the wound, and I'm the only cure
my spirit recognized for all these years,
my tenderness learned how to reassure
a skittish soul that bears amorphous fears.

I soothe myself and lull the ones I love.
If I were Atlas, I would hold the Earth
on my maternal lap or right above
my heartbeat's song to dampen all the dearth.

However, when the nightfall's flames ignite
the tiny lantern-stars up in the skies,
I drop my strength, confiding to the night
that I'm, too, just a child in grown-disguise.

I'm strong all day - but who will mother  mom
when nighttime fills the air with mystic balm?



 


Poem of the Month
Contest Winner

Recognized


We all have moments like this...

Written in Ray's (Mountainwriter) Sonnet class, which I highly recommend.
This is an English sonnet sequence - or as Cat would say "not a crown, but a tiara" :).

In the second sonnet I was experimenting with trochaic substitutions
"Feeling worthless (her back is slightly bent)" breaks the meter giving more emphasis to the content.
I could have written "with worthlessness, (her back is slightly bent)" to maintain the meter... I chose not to do so in order to give emphasis to the thought.

Also, the same sonnet has two feminine endings.

Image: courtesy of Bing images.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


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